Give Me a Memory
by collegefangirl3791
Summary: Fic based off Adele's lovely song "All I Ask". Sherlolly; Sherlock goes to Molly's apartment to thank her for her help and watch late night TV with her. Molly falls asleep. Idk, it's kinda fluffy and kinda sad.


_I will leave my heart at the door_

 _I won't say a word_  
 _They've all been said before, you know_  
 _So why don't we just play pretend_  
 _Like we're not scared of what is coming next_  
 _Or scared of having nothing left_

 _Look, don't get me wrong_  
 _I know there is no tomorrow_  
 _All I ask is_

 _If this is my last night with you_  
 _Hold me like I'm more than just a friend_  
 _Give me a memory I can use_  
 _Take me by the hand while we do what lovers do_  
 _It matters how this ends_  
 _Cause what if I never love again?_

Molly sat on her little couch, curled up with a blanket and a glass of wine to watch telly. She was immensely tired, having spent the last several days answering questions about Sherlock's "suicide" and trying to avoid having to talk to John. She hadn't seen Sherlock since helping him fake his death, and somehow she felt almost as sad as if he really was dead. He hadn't so much as thanked her, so maybe he'd simply had no choice but to ask her help, and had made sure she wouldn't refuse by asking her the way he had. But she dismissed that thought. He came to her for help at his lowest point. He wasn't just using her; he was better than that. At least, she hoped he was.

Shaking her head, she switched on the telly to watch Graham Norton and distract herself.

As Graham began his introductions, making the usual stupid jokes about his guests, there was a knock on Molly's door. Grumbling, she got up, hoping it was Sherlock but certain that it was just Lestrade with some stupid piece of information about the suicide.

It wasn't Lestrade.

"Good evening, Molly." His voice was deep and slightly amused. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Sherlock!" Molly almost hugged him, but thought better of it. "No, I was just relaxing." Awkwardly, she straightened her over-large pajama shirt and stepped back. "Come on in."

He did, his hands clasped behind his back, and he gave her a quick but thorough once-over. "You haven't been getting enough sleep," he remarked. "I'm sorry."

Molly had no idea what he was apologizing for. Was he sympathizing with her over her lack of sleep? That didn't seem like him. "It's fine," she said dismissively, grabbing her remote to turn off the TV.

"Did you need something?" she asked, sitting down on the couch and gesturing for him to do the same. He did, looking stiff. Social calls were evidently not something he was good at.

"No. I was just stopping by to thank you."

Even though Molly had been hoping he would say that, she still couldn't quite believe that he had. "What?"

"Thank you for helping me," he said, shrugging. "You did quite well."

"I... Thanks, Sherlock," she said, blushing despite herself. "And you're welcome." She grabbed her glass of wine and had a sip, then realized she ought to offer some to Sherlock.

He declined, adding that she could turn the TV back on if she wanted. He then relaxed back on the couch, apparently intending to stay a while. Bewildered, and a bit embarrassed, Molly clicked the power button on her remote and drew her legs up close to her chest.

Graham was in the middle of interrogating Matt Smith on his role in Doctor Who, and Matt seemed to be thoroughly enjoying himself. For the first twenty minutes of the show and commercials, Molly couldn't even look at Sherlock, convinced that he must think she was stupid or ridiculous for liking crap telly. Soon, however, she realized that he actually appeared highly interested in the show. And it occurred to her that he was tired too.

She finished her first glass of wine and poured herself another.

The Graham Norton Show ended, but Molly switched channels to watch Downton Abbey, which made Sherlock snort. However, he stayed where he was and didn't say anything.

"What are you going to do now?" Molly asked, quietly, while the Downton Abbey theme played.

"Now?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I mean once you leave here. You're officially dead, so what are you going to do?"

"Ah. I have to work on dismantling Moriarty's network, but that should be a bit easier since I'm, as you said, dead." Sherlock stretched and settled himself more comfortably on the couch. "I don't know how long that will take."

"Oh." He might be gone for years, then. Molly swallowed back something like anger. "And John still can't know?"

Sherlock frowned and glanced away. "No. I can't let anyone know unless absolutely necessary. And he's safer not knowing."

Molly pursed her lips in disapproval but didn't say anything. Still, the consulting detective seemed to sense her opinion, and said firmly, "I know what I'm doing. He'll get over it quickly enough, I'm sure."

To think that he actually believed that. Molly sighed. "Okay, Sherlock."

They sat in silence after that, and Molly started feeling drowsy. It felt strangely right, sitting here with Sherlock Holmes on the couch, listening to him scoffing at the obviousness of the plot twists on Downton Abbey. Despite her better judgement, which was somewhat befuddled by wine and exhaustion, she felt herself leaning closer and closer to Sherlock. He appeared not to notice, but then, one could never tell with him.

Somehow, Molly didn't care. He was leaving, for who knew how long, and she didn't feel like sitting stiffly on her own couch.

Finally, too tired to worry about what he would think, she lay down with her head on his lap, watching the show with half-open eyes. He stiffened for a moment, but then he lightly touched her shoulder and shifted so she was more comfortable. He probably thought she was tipsy, or asleep, or sad, or something. Maybe he thought he owed her. Whatever it was, she didn't mind. Just this once, she allowed herself to pretend that he cared about her. She closed her eyes and let the muted sound of the TV lull her to sleep.

* * *

Sherlock would never admit it, but he enjoyed crap telly more than any proper detective ought to. Mycroft loved to mock him for it, but it was a nice way to relieve tension after a taxing case.

Sitting with Molly felt comfortable. He didn't feel that he had to pretend around her, especially after she had seen him at his lowest. He still wasn't sure how he felt about that. Maybe he should be ashamed, but he wasn't, really. He'd spent years dismissing Molly, unaware of her intelligence, and had only realized his own insensitivity when John pointed it out to him. So perhaps it was only fair that she had seen him so broken. Maybe it made up for his own... well, stupidity, really.

He almost didn't notice her getting closer to him, too caught up in his own thoughts and plans. So when her head was suddenly in his lap, he froze. She was curled up small, clearly exhausted from days of stress. For a moment, he didn't know what to do, but then he smiled a little, stretched his legs out, and squeezed her shoulder.

She fell asleep only a few minutes later; her breathing slowed and deepened, and the weary lines on her face eased. He turned off the telly and let out a low sigh, lazily running his fingers through her hair. She must have been run ragged over the past few days. Which was his fault. He groaned and rubbed his free hand over his face. What a colossal mess this was.

Glancing down at Molly again, he let himself examine her closer, still playing with her hair. She had lost weight and gotten a haircut in the past few days. New shampoo? Yes. Expensive brand, lavender scented. Probably trying to pamper herself a bit; a coping mechanism of sorts. His lip curled in disgust at himself. He should have gotten someone else to help him. But of course, there had been no one else.

Sighing, he decided he needed to leave. He didn't need to endanger Molly anymore. And maybe it would be better, anyway, if she didn't have any idea where he'd gone or when. Carefully, gently, he fitted his arms under her shoulders and knees and stood up. She flinched but didn't wake up.

It took a little maneuvering to get her bedroom door open, but he managed it and set her gently down on her bed. He hesitated, uncertain, before pulling the covers up over her and trying to make her comfortable as best as he knew how.

"Goodnight, Molly Hooper," he said quietly, then he turned to go. He had things to do, and before long he had deliberately forgotten his exhaustion in favor of the machine-like precision and coldness required for success in his profession.

* * *

 **A/N: Sherlolly Sherlolly Sherlolly. Totally inspired by the song "All I Ask" by Adele, which is the most Sherlolly song in existence. Sorry for any OOC stuff; if they are OOC, I can get away with it because they're both tired and Sherlock just died and whatnot.**

 **Please review, and check out my Tumblr at this same username!**


End file.
